


Set loose the Monster

by Messy_haired_bum



Series: Unnatural Writers Club [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Brief mentions of torture, Episode: s04e16 On the Head of a Pin, Gen, Hell
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-11
Updated: 2016-12-11
Packaged: 2018-09-07 21:45:40
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 815
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8817340
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Messy_haired_bum/pseuds/Messy_haired_bum
Summary: Alt. Title: How Dean Winchester picked up the knife again





	

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: A Feast
> 
> Coda: 04x16 On the Head of a Pin

_“You ask me to open that door and walk through it, you will not like what walks back out.”_

And Dean, Dean knows this to be a fact. This was not a threat, an ultimatum or anything like that. This is a warning, a statement. He walks in there, and the thing that comes back out will no longer be Dean Winchester.

It will be a monster.

He can walk away, he thinks. Just walks out, hitches back to Cheyenne, to Sam, and forgets that this ever happens. That _Heaven_ orders this to happen. (That maybe, Heaven is really not that different from Hell.)

And he is prepared, too, to turn away, but -

_“For what it’s worth, I would give anything not to have you do this.”_

And Castiel would, too. He knows that. The angel has that desperate look to him, that makes him decidedly less angelic and more. More human. Perhaps this is the “sympathies”, that he so claimed.

Dean doesn’t know what to do.

Logically, he would walk away. Turn around and never look back. But Castiel, _Cas_ , who pulled him from Perdition, who is dorky and nerdy and somehow, is becoming an unlikely friend, is looking shattered and torn and “I would give anything”. Who is already up shit creek because of Dean and this angelic being, this warrior of God, is brought down to this level, all because of one Dean Winchester and how, how can Dean explain this?

How can he justify letting such a wonderful creature sacrificing any more for him? Letting more die because of his cowardice?

He can’t. He can’t. Dean knows that. And he also knows that if Dean decides to walk away now, Castiel will allow it. So Dean will live, and Cas will, not. Probably. And Dean knows he doesn’t deserve this, this loyalty, this confession and “sympathies”.

But he also can’t go back there. Can’t go in there and face Alistair and, goddammit, _torture_ information out of him. Can’t pick up the knife and open the gate. Can’t become that thing again. Because he knows there would be no coming back if he did.

It was too hard chaining the monster down the first time to let it loose again.

Because the chains are already loosened at the prospect. The monster is getting loose, and Dean doesn’t know how to fix this (he knows, though, but he can’t because _Cas is_ -)

Dean knows, more than ever, that a dark part inside him, the thing that he chained down deep inside the recess of his mind, is practically salivating at this chance, like a hound baying for blood. This chance to get back at the master ( _Master_ ), the ultimate usurpation, the sweetest revenge. There’s a part of him that can’t resist this temptation ( _sink the knife in and **carve**_ -), and that scares the crap out of him.

Dean is scared. He has been scared since he woke up in his coffin (and how fucked up is that), been scared all this time. ( _do you really think you got out, Dean? that an angel got you out? really?_ ) He is tired. And now that the other shoe has dropped ( _“I pulled you out, I can throw you back in”_ ), he feels this weird sense of relief.

And he knows, already, that he will not turn Cas down. ( _can’t disappoint him can’t can’t_ ).

( _I owe him that much_.)

Dean closes his eyes.

“I’m gonna need some tools.” ( _Snap!_ )

The Apprentice looks back ( _finally!_ )

And the walls bleed red.  
……………………………………………….

_“Heaven, I’m in heaven, and my heart beats so that I can hardly speak.”_

This is so, limiting, Dean dimly thinks. He glances briefly at the cart of tools he just uncovered, and feels laughter bubbled up his throat. So unimaginative. No wonder the winged dicks failed ( _those good-for-nothing angels_ ).

_“I seem to find the happiness I seek, when we’re out together dancing cheek to cheek…”_

Can hardly be called a feast, he thinks. And certainly not enough for Master. He’s offended on Alistair’s behalf. But with Master spread out like this so _delicious_ , it makes up. A little bit.

He’s been waiting for this for so long, and Sammy, _you’re-not-strong-enough_ Sammy, wishes you could be here baby brother, I’ve been _dying_ to show you how weak I am.

He’d loved to take times with this. And limited as these tools are, he is nothing but resourceful and imaginative after all. Brilliant, with just a knife, as Master used to say. He’s not the Apprentice for nothing. ( _Bela screamed so beautifully, after all, and she was his first._ ) And while this knife is not his favored, it will have to do ( _oh, he misses it so, like losing a limb_ ).

But he’s on a job ( _and how he detests that_ ), and there’s no time to waste.

He picks up the knife.

Let the feast begins.

_Hello, Alistair._


End file.
